


the shadows you wear as a crown

by homobirb



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homobirb/pseuds/homobirb
Summary: "And where are you, Will?""I'm in Hell."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Banned Banned Together Bingo 2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020, borb's btb 2020 works





	the shadows you wear as a crown

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from [hunt you down by hit house feat. ruby friedman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kd5D9-3-eU)
> 
> written for the banned together bingo, prompt "Hell"

"Will, please." Hannibal looks upon him with an unreadable expression, waiting.

Will swallows. "My name is Will Graham. The time is-" he glances at the clock hanging on the wall,"-2:24am." He'd like to wrap his hands around the horns protruding from Hannibal's skull. He thinks it'd be satisfying to touch, to firmly grasp them, then wretch Hannibal's head sharply, to hear the snap of his neck.

"And where are you, Will?"

The stag stands behind Hannibal, its face hovering over Hannibal's seated figure. It exhales forcefully, puffing hot air over Hannibal with narrowed eyes. Will knows intimately what that feels like, and is glad he's far enough that he doesn't have to smell the stench that wraps around the stag like barbed wire, the smell of death and decay and blood sticking to its feathers.

"I'm in Hell."

Hannibal stares at him. There's a small smile playing upon his lips, amusement lighting in his eyes. He doesn't say anything, though, just watches Will fidget with the edge of his sweater.

"Is this penance?" Will asks, breaking the silence.

"Penance for what?"

"Penance for my empathy. For getting too close."

Hannibal licks his lips and leans forward. "Suppose it is. What role do I play?"

The stag walks towards him. Will watches with uneasy eyes.

"My executioner."

The stag's feathers rustle in time with Hannibal's short laugh. "I do not intend to kill you, Will."

"Then what do you intend to do?"

Hannibal just stares at him. Waiting.

The stag stands besides him, looking down upon him with dark eyes that send a shiver down his spine.

"No, you  _ can't _ kill me. You may be my captor, but you need me alive."

Hannibal doesn't answer, so he continues.

"You can't kill me because you need me. But why do you need me?" It's a question, but not aimed at Hannibal. He does carefully watch his face for any minute expression changes, though. "You need me, specifically. In ways you didn't need anyone else. How am I different from your victims?"

Hannibal purses his lips, then leans forward and rests his chin on folded hands. "I believe you once said the Ripper, in your words, elevates his victims into art."

The final piece clicks into place. Will's head feels hot, and a bead of sweat drips down his back.

"I'm your audience," he whispers.

They sit with the revelation for several moments.

"I'm the only one that can see. That can see  _ you _ ." The stag's feathers feel soft against his hand. He's unintentionally reached out, suddenly finding his hand softly petting the creature's side. The stag lowers its head.

A pearl of laughter escapes his lips. It's wild and crazed, and Will sucking in gulps of air that do nothing to calm the fire in his lungs. Hannibal merely watches until he composes himself. The back of his sweater is drenched in sweat. Wiping at his forehead is useless, as any sweat he mops up is immediately replaced by more beads.

"You may not be my executioner," he starts, trying to ignore the flames licking up the sides of the wall that flicker in and out of existence. "But keeping me here, forcing me to watch, it is Hell."

Hannibal leans back. "Do you believe in God?"

They've already had this conversation before; Will knows exactly where Hannibal lies on the issue.

"It does not matter what I believe. The reality of the situation-" a branch that looks too close to the appearance of Hannibal's horns wraps itself around his ankle. "-is that this is a living Hell."

His head aches, and he feels as though he is being consumed by fire. "Hannibal, I am sick. I can't keep looking. It's killing me."

He knows Hannibal knows this. The man has left notes on his condition in the locked drawer of the nightstand next to Will's bed, although the lock was easily bypassed with a pen and a small comb. He's read the words over and over, the descriptions of his seizures and fevers and, the ultimate diagnosis, encephalitis, all in the small cursive of Hannibal's handwriting. Hannibal is a doctor, and Will can't fathom why he hasn't cured him yet. It must be amusing to him, to watch Will be eaten alive by his hallucinations.

"No, Will." Hannibal leans forward, breaking Will from the reverie of his thoughts. He smiles, his teeth too sharp. "You are magnificent. And that is all I ever wanted for you."

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://itshomobirb.tumblr.com/) and [my twitter](https://twitter.com/homobirb)


End file.
